


(i could be) just your type of high

by nowayout



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowayout/pseuds/nowayout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is that nine times out of ten the things Liam does with men are accidental. Flirting, kissing. Falling in love, because that worked out so well the last time it happened. </p><p>And that’s not what this is, he knows, but it’s still something. It’s enough to make him grin like the world’s biggest enamoured idiot even though he’s well aware somebody is already taking pictures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(i could be) just your type of high

**Author's Note:**

> ...I'm not sorry.  
>  Title from _Obsession_ by Sky Ferreira.

 

Between Andy’s newfound interest in American football and Harry’s persistence that he should get out of his comfort zone and revel in the variety of everything L.A. has to offer, Liam agrees to attend the football game if only for the sake of a new experience. He’s not exactly incognito – even the hat is more likely than not giving him away considering how often he’s worn one these past weeks – so it doesn’t come as a surprise that he gets recognized pretty soon. There are gasps and cut-off shrieks that he can’t help being hyperaware of, but so far everybody’s being nice about it, letting him enjoy the game from where he’s standing on the sidelines. It’s only a matter of time before pictures of him being there start getting posted on social media, he knows, but that doesn’t bother him at all. He only feels a tad guilty because, well, now some people aren’t paying attention to what is happening on the field the way they probably would have if he weren’t there.

 

He tries to focus on the game as best he can, but it’s still a little confusing; he doesn’t know all the proper terms or can’t match them to what he’s seeing unfold in front of him and he keeps getting distracted, smiling broadly and giggling with Paddy for no particular reason. He feels good. Whether it is because they’ve gotten a break from the promo routine or because that whole process is going much better than he’d expected or just because the weather is nice, he doesn’t know. But he feels lighter than he has in months.

 

Still, as much as he appreciates his day off, he can’t say there’s anything remarkable about it. Until after the game, that is.

 

It’s not something that should affect him anymore; lately, it almost never does. Definitely not like it used to.

 

People look at him sometimes, usually under the neon lights of some obscure club where his name and status matter less than his looks and what he can do with his body. Or in the posh ones, where everybody bleeds restraint and good manners, and yet their eyes linger, graciousness be damned, and no one says a thing but the message still comes through loud and clear. They gaze, stare at him in a way that fills him with the kind of confidence he only has when he’s on stage.

 

So yes, by now he’s used to having people look at him. Women, for the most part. But sometimes men look too.

 

He can count on one hand the times he looked back and did something about it.

 

He certainly wants to do something when they’re introduced to each other and all he sees is dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes that are giving him an unmistakably interested once-over.

 

But then _he_ smiles, sweet and friendly, and asks Liam if he plans to switch careers, jokingly listing off the minimum height necessary for various positions as he looks Liam up and down, and Liam starts giggling like he’s wont to do around men who seem to be flirting with him.

 

Liam is pretty sure his cheeks are on fire for the entirety of their conversation, which he’d be more embarrassed about if he were the only one getting flustered by – whatever is happening, but. He’s not.

 

He leaves the stadium with a new contact in his phone and a bashful smile on his lips.

 

/

 

It’s on the second day of back-to-back interviews that Louis cracks and demands to know why Liam has been glued to his phone even more so than usual. Liam is only surprised it’s taken him this long to ask.

 

He hasn’t necessarily kept quiet about Jordan on purpose, but broaching the topic felt strangely daunting for some reason and a tiny part of him was relieved and almost glad that no one but Paddy knew. Now he just feels plain dumb. A little selfish, too, because he’d forgotten how exciting it was to make new friends and consequently let himself be swept away too quickly by the shiny feeling that managed to silence the insecurities he hasn’t yet managed to shed.

 

But now Louis knows that something is going on and it’s been years since he was able to keep secrets from Louis. So he tells him that he met someone, and no, he doesn’t mean that in a romantic way, they’re just mates – or, well, they’re getting there, they’ve only known each other for, what, four days, it’s nothing.

 

Louis is giving him a suspicious look. Wonderful. Liam is silently hoping that he won’t take the piss. Or maybe that he will because that at least would make things feel more normal.

 

“A friend, eh?” Louis asks, quirking an eyebrow when Liam’s phone buzzes again.

 

“A friend,” Liam affirms, but there’s nothing he can do about the wide smile or the blush that spreads across his face, thumbs flying over the phone screen as he rushes to come up with a somewhat decent reply before the next interview begins.

 

Two hours later, Harry and Niall start teasing him more (Harry) or less (Niall) subtly about his new boyfriend because of course they do.

 

Liam glares at Louis for half a second. Louis grins like a smug cat.

 

/

 

Hearing Jordan talk about college and the clothing line he has with his friends brings out the wistfulness Liam is normally too busy to pay mind to, makes him crave the kind of normalcy he’s taught himself not to stupidly long for. At the same time there’s something deeply soothing about listening to someone set and proudly achieve goals that don’t involve performing in sold-out stadiums the world over, so Liam buries the pointless melancholy under everything else that Jordan’s stories make him feel, focuses on bright smiles and shares some of his own experiences, tries to give back as much as he can without sounding like an arrogant idiot who acts like he’s seen and done it all.

 

But Jordan shakes his head every time Liam makes a self-deprecating joke, tells him that he thinks what Liam has accomplished already is pretty fucking amazing, and fixes him with an intense, serious look that shuts Liam up before he can say that there are literally millions of people who have helped him get where he is now.

 

It’s been a while since someone attempted to remind him not to put himself down without actually saying the words; it’s mostly Louis’ job these days.

 

And that’s another thing that throws him off balance, how easily Jordan can guess what’s on his mind, how Jordan can read him like the open book he’d hoped he wasn’t to anyone except for his family and his boys.

 

He wonders how much of that has to do with his own willingness to let Jordan in.

 

It’s difficult to forget that in a little over six months he got his heart broken twice, in different but eerily similar ways because his heart has never not been complicated, so he knows that he should at least try to be more cautious this time. But what Liam knows he should do and what Liam does are two different stories that have little in common other than Liam’s name.

 

/

 

He catches himself wanting to touch Jordan constantly because he doesn’t know how not to touch the people he’s close to after five years in which emotions were more often than not conveyed through hugging and slapping and pinching rather than words. However, he doesn’t do more than nudge Jordan with his elbow when they find something to laugh about or, occasionally, squeeze his shoulder, hard, just to prove that he can. Probably. He’s not entirely sure.

 

They’re out with some of Jordan’s friends when it happens, and Liam would love to blame the alcohol because that would make everything so much easier, but they’ve only had a beer or two and clearly no one at the table is a lightweight. He’s giggling at one of their stories, which he supposes he gets to hear because it’s meant to embarrass Jordan if the way he keeps flipping them off and saying that’s not how things happened is anything to go by. He’s grinning though, eyes flitting to Liam every now and then, and Liam leans into him without even thinking about it, does what feels natural, what he’s used to. The hand on his knee doesn’t really register at first, but when it does it feels like the gesture carries a monumental meaning that Liam half understands and half wishes he didn’t.

 

He stops giggling, looks at the long fingers that climb up his thigh just a little, watches silently as they trace patterns that he can feel through his jeans.

 

This isn’t something he’s used to; not really, not anymore. It’s one thing when he does it to Niall or when Harry does it to him, when a hand on the knee is just another way to show support and fierce loyalty, when the only possible reaction is a beaming, thankful smile.

 

Now, though. Now Liam’s heartbeat stutters and stumbles before it gets so strong that he can see his shirt shaking. He feels his cock twitch in interest and closes his eyes quickly, taking a deep breath through his nose, willing his body to calm down.

 

Jordan doesn’t take his hand off Liam’s leg, and Liam doesn’t ask him to, either. Doesn’t want him to. He waits five seconds, ten, fifteen, waits to stop feeling like he’s ready to jump out of his skin, but, since that doesn’t happen, he thinks _fuck it_ and puts his head on Jordan’s shoulder.

 

The hand on his leg moves up another inch.

 

/

 

Things don’t exactly change like Liam expects them to, which is strange and confusing because he’s well aware of the way Jordan looks at him, and hints that he was once oblivious to don’t pass over his head anymore. And yet, the only noticeable difference is that their touches maybe become a little bolder, fingertips lingering just a bit longer, but neither of them dares to cross any lines that may or may not be there.

 

By the time he’s back in the UK for the final performance and the holidays, Liam has almost convinced himself that he’d been imagining everything, that Jordan was never really interested in him like that. That doesn’t stop him from remembering how Jordan’s hand felt on the small of his back when he walked Liam to the door a couple nights ago after taking him to a Mexican restaurant while Paddy pretended to be invisible until he managed to slip inside the flat Liam had rented. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he’d done more to make his intentions clear.

 

/

 

He wonders sometimes what it would be like. He can’t help it. He wonders if Jordan would use all that strength he has. If he’d want to hold Liam down and fuck him until he begged and cried for more, for everything. If he’d open him up slowly or ruin him from the get-go, leaving him no time to adjust, giving him what he wanted before Liam could even ask for it.

 

For a second or twenty he thinks about giving in, pushing down his joggers and taking his cock in his hand. He could pretend the fingers touching him are a little thicker, longer, the skin tone darker. He could pretend to hear the now familiar voice becoming deeper, hoarser, praising him over and over, telling him that he’s being good, so good, he could –

 

He all but jumps out of bed, goes to the bathroom and turns on the shower. The clothes he’s still wearing get thrown into the bathtub that hasn’t been used in ages, carelessly and hastily. It’s only when he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxer shorts that he pauses, an idea forming in his head that makes him sink his teeth into his bottom lip.

 

No one would think anything of it, he knows. Something he’s learnt over the years is that hiding in plain sight actually works. Which is why he ultimately chooses to do it and, about ten minutes later, he posts a shirtless selfie on Instagram. He turns his phone off when the comments start trickling in, because he knows that otherwise he’d wait forever for something that can’t happen. Still, he’s sure Jordan will see the picture and that’s enough for now.

 

/

 

He returns to L.A. sooner than initially planned, telling himself it’s because he needed to get back in the studio before he lost his mind. Technically, it isn’t even a lie – he doesn’t quite know how to function anymore without being on a tight schedule and he was getting terribly bored at home. Besides, he can’t imagine ever not wanting to work on more music, so, yes, he’s glad to be back and doing what he loves most.

 

He’s also supposed to meet up with Jordan the following night, so there’s that.

 

/

 

“You should teach me how to play,” Liam says absentmindedly, pretending to throw at Jordan an old football that’s clearly seen better days. They’d decided to stay in and order takeaway, which Liam couldn’t be more grateful for because he isn’t mood to deal with paparazzi or the general insanity of the city yet. He has no idea where Jordan’s flatmate is, but as long as it’s not here he frankly doesn’t care either.

 

It’s not the first time he’s been here; it is however the first time he’s stayed long enough to look around, to take in the details, to notice the framed photos and diplomas, the trophies and a few strewn pieces of clothing that weren’t shoved in closets in a hurry. He grins, thinking to himself that maybe it’s no coincidence that the flatmate had somewhere else to be tonight.

 

Jordan walks up to Liam, two, three long strides, taking the football from Liam’s hands as he gives him a considering look. “Guess I could do that,” he says, a pleasant, still too innocent smile on his lips. Liam makes sure not to break eye contact when he takes a couple steps backwards to go sit on the sofa, satisfied to see Jordan’s gaze sweep down his body and back up again and the smile turn into a mischievous grin. “But, um. What’s in it for me?”

 

And – that’s it, really. That’s all it takes, and maybe Liam would feel a little pathetic for taking the bait so easily if they hadn’t been playing this game for weeks. As it is, he leans further back into the couch, blinking up at Jordan with wide eyes, enjoying the way the air grows heavy with each passing second.

 

“I could teach you something in return.” He shrugs casually, but not because he wants to appear unaffected. On the contrary, he wants Jordan to know, wants him to notice that Liam’s display of nonchalance is nothing but an act.

 

Jordan lets out a chuckle, shaking his head as he glances down for a moment. “That so?” he asks, and Liam doesn’t miss the way he wets his lips. “Like what?”

 

Liam shrugs again, waits until he sees Jordan’s eyes flicker to his lips, then says, “Whatever you wanted.”

 

/

 

Jordan’s relentless, kissing Liam like he means it, fingertips digging into the flesh above his hipbones, his back, leaving him breathless, wonderfully lightheaded, and Liam is suddenly thankful for waiting and all the pent-up emotions because this – it’s more than worth it.

 

He has to lean up on his tiptoes to kiss Jordan, head tipped back, and, well, that’s a first, but he likes it more than he thought he would, likes getting lost in a boy – man – that makes him feel small in the best way possible.

 

They don’t try to find a name for it, don’t try to turn it into something heavier than it is. He’s not looking for a serious relationship and he knows that neither is Jordan, so they keep it – not necessarily a secret, but between them nonetheless.

 

The only other person who knows that Liam and Jordan’s – _thing_ isn’t entirely platonic anymore is Paddy, whose meaningful looks and lenient smiles whenever he drives Liam to Jordan’s flat or comes to pick him up make Liam blush and bury a grin in his shoulder like a smitten twelve-year-old.

 

The truth is he’s starting to feel like one.

 

/

 

His eyes flutter closed as he sinks down onto Jordan’s cock, breath catching in his throat each time Jordan snaps his hips up into him. A short, choked laugh tumbles out of his mouth right before Jordan tugs him down to crash their lips together and swallows the loud moan Liam lets out when Jordan thrusts in harder, just once, like a warning, reminding Liam just how quickly he could wreck him, turn him into an incoherent mess if he wanted.

 

It makes him a little dizzy, how good he feels, how good this feels, the slow drag of Jordan’s cock inside of him addictive. Filthy and beautiful all at once. He can let go when he’s like this, doesn’t feel the need to have everything under control, is more than happy to let Jordan be in charge of his body, of his mind. But he still whimpers and tries to grind his hips faster, just to see if Jordan will allow it, to see how far he’ll let Liam take this.

 

It’s only a matter of seconds before Jordan pushes himself to a sitting position, one arm going around Liam’s waist while the other hand comes up to grab Liam’s chin. “Look at you,” he says, reverently almost, dark eyes sparkling like the starry sky. “Such a pretty boy. My pretty boy.”

 

Liam lets out a pitiful whine, tries to lift himself up and fuck himself on Jordan’s cock until he forgets his own name, but Jordan wraps his arm tighter around his waist and stills his movements. Jordan raises an eyebrow, like he’s daring Liam to do something about it – he won’t and they both know it – before glancing down to watch the way his thumb is rubbing Liam’s plump bottom lip.

 

“Your mouth, man, Jesus Christ,” he says, chuckling incredulously, bucking his hips up once again, pressing in just right, and Liam can barely breathe, every nerve ending on fire.

 

“Fuck, _please_ ,” Liam begs, giving a gasp of relief when Jordan’s hands settle on his hips, encouraging him to start moving.

 

Jordan’s lips are on the soft skin between his collarbones the next second, sucking a mark that makes Liam hiss helplessly, smirking at the way Liam’s body responds to him. “Love this, don’t you? Love bouncing on my dick,” he goads. “Taking it so good, baby, so good.”

 

“M’always – always good for you,” Liam chokes out, heart hammering in his chest.

 

He doesn’t expect the warm mouth on the side of his neck; doesn’t expect the tender kiss Jordan presses there. And it shouldn’t mean anything, shouldn’t feel different, but it does somehow, makes his heart flutter happily, and, well. That wasn’t supposed happen, was it.

 

“Yeah,” Jordan agrees, voice as gentle as the hands running up and down Liam’s back. “Yeah, you are.”

 

/

 

The problem is that nine times out of ten the things Liam does with men are accidental. Flirting, kissing. Falling in love, because that worked out so well the last time it happened.

 

And that’s not what this is, he knows, but it’s still something. It’s enough to make him grin like the world’s biggest enamoured idiot even though he’s well aware somebody is already taking pictures.

 

He tries to hide his smile behind the hand with the newly tattooed roses, hoping that’ll give everyone something to talk about, that it will distract them from anything else, like the fact that he may or may not be on a date.

 

Paddy’s half-exasperated, half-amused look screams _I told you Starbucks was a bad idea_ , but Liam feels too happy to do anything other than keep on grinning.

 

/

 

He figures the world knows that a) he was at a Starbucks that morning, b) he’s got a new tattoo, c) hopefully nothing else, when his phone starts ringing. But since he’s busy at the moment, what with Jordan taking his clothes off and tracing Liam’s tattoos like they’re sacred symbols, he tells himself he’ll deal with it later. Preferably tomorrow.

 

Eventually he only reads the texts that matter, the ones that don’t give him a headache, because he doesn’t want to hear about anything business or image-related right now. He’s on a goddamn break.

 

He replies to Louis’ _???!!?!?!?!_ with _?_ just to be a dick. It’s not that Louis doesn’t know what’s going on – he does. He’s probably just offended that he wasn’t the first to find out that Liam and Jordan’s harmless flirting had turned into something more. Andy on the other hand is being a much more understanding best friend, only texting Liam _nice ;)_ , which makes him giggle but also fills him boundless affection because it reminds him once more that he’ll always have Andy’s support.

 

Niall’s enthusiastic _get it payno!!!_ comes in at three in the morning because Niall’s fucked off to Australia and he clearly doesn’t care about time zones or other people’s sleeping schedule. Liam sends him the tongue emoji since he’s awake anyway.

 

Harry only sends him a smiley face, which is somehow even worse, because it makes him think that Harry knows, knows more than Liam is willing to admit at this point, knows everything, and that, what Harry is implying – Liam can’t handle it just yet.

 

/

 

It’s almost a month later, after Twitter banter and subtle hints, after he’s made sure it’s not a secret that he and Jordan know each other, that they’re friends, at least, that he gathers the courage to send the text he’s had in his drafts for – a while.

 

He worries that maybe he’s already waited too long, that he should have said something sooner. But it’s still so new, this thing between him and Jordan, and he’d tried not to get ahead of himself. And no, Liam doesn’t feel like he owes him this, but. He should find out from Liam, not from gossip sites or someone who’d only tell him out of spite.

 

Lost in thought, he almost drops his phone when it buzzes in his hand. He takes a deep breath. Whatever the reply may say, he knows he needs to do this. Close that chapter once and for all.

 

_im happy for u bro x_

 

There’s a cautious smile tugging at his lips that he allows to grow a tiny bit bigger as he reads the text over and over. And yet, at the same time, his heart clenches – once, twice – bringing back a rhythm that feels a little too much like nostalgia. Liam doesn’t doubt him or the sincerity of his words. He just wishes that they could have this conversation face-to-face, wishes he could share this happiness he’s been basking in lately with the boy who used to know him better than he knew himself.

 

One day, maybe. When the world is less intent on keeping them apart.

 

He’s still looking at his phone without really seeing it when he receives another text.

 

_i WILL kick his footballer arse if he hurts u_

 

Liam lets out a surprised bark of laughter, feeling like he’s finally able to breathe easy. He nods, smiling still, even though there’s no one around to see him.

 

/

 

“You’re pathetic and I feel terribly sorry for you.”

 

Liam snorts. He should have seen it coming, he supposes. “Don’t be jealous, Tommo, I still love you the most.”

 

“Fuck off. I still can’t believe you’re actually doing this.”

 

They’re in a small flower shop on the outskirts of L.A., one that thankfully isn’t as crowded as the other seventeen they’d passed by in the last hour. Liam is also in a dilemma, not knowing what to buy or even the names of the dozens types of flowers they’re surrounded by, so he just keeps pointing at different arrangements, which Louis must find incredibly hilarious because he’s grinning like mad.

 

Liam narrows his eyes. “What?”

 

“Nothing. I just feel I should point out again how painfully embarrassing you are, but –” He pauses, smug grin giving way to a much softer smile. Suddenly there’s this look on his face that he only gets when he’s serious about something or when he’s three seconds away from a soppy confession. Liam wants to hug him.

 

“Lou?”

 

Louis shakes his head, grabs Liam’s hand and gives a gentle squeeze. “You have this smile, you know,” he begins, voice like warm honey. “When you talk about him. Or just when you hear his name, really, you start to – ” He shrugs, shaking his head again. Liam wants to hug him even more. “All I’m saying is – it’s been a while since you’ve smiled like that. And I’m happy you’ve got your smile back. But,” and his voice gets a little sharper again, teasing, “you’re still embarrassing. Now pick some bloody flowers.”

 

Liam laughs and in the end goes home with a small bouquet of red roses.

 

/

 

He wakes Jordan up with a kiss on the forehead and gentle fingers trailing along the curve of his jaw. It’s always been one of his biggest flaws, he knows, how easily he gives his heart away, constantly looking for love and throwing himself headfirst into anything that bears the slightest resemblance to it. But there isn’t much he can do about it, can’t hide from the warmth that reaches the marrow of his bones when he watches Jordan’s eyes flutter open, can’t stop himself from thinking that maybe he’s finally found the one who won’t leave.

 

“Morning, boyfriend,” Jordan says groggily, smiling like the actual sun, bright and happy, and pulling Liam down to give him a peck on the lips.

 

Liam grins helplessly. “It’s – four in the afternoon, actually. Sleepyhead.”

 

“Not my fault, baby, you kept me up last night.”

 

Liam raises an eyebrow, trying not to let himself be distracted by the hand that just slipped under his shirt. “The way I remember it, staying up to watch the sunrise was your idea.”

 

It was also the last push he’d needed to make up his mind about getting Jordan something for Valentine’s Day, because Jordan had done – quite a lot actually. So maybe they’d started celebrating a little early, a few hours before it was even midnight, with Jordan cooking dinner while Liam was doing his damnedest not to blush remembering the way Paddy had given him a pat on the shoulder and said he’d be sleeping at Louis’ until Liam needed him back. At dawn they’d watched the sun come up and paint the sky with gentle, warm colours from the rooftop of Liam’s apartment building, sharing strawberry pancakes and kisses, and Liam melted at all the attention he was being given, at all the effort Jordan had put into everything.

 

After that, he’s fairly certain his flowers aren’t too much.

 

Jordan laughs, warm fingers settling on the spaces between Liam’s ribs like an anchor. “Yeah, but I was fine with sleeping afterwards,” he says, voice turning a little smug. “You had other plans.”

 

Liam shrugs. “Had to thank you somehow, didn’t I? Speaking of,” he pulls out the roses from behind his back, heart leaping into his throat when he sees Jordan’s eyes widen, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

 

It’s quiet for a minute, nothing but the sound of their breathing disturbing the heavy silence, and Liam feels a cold shiver creep down his spine. Maybe the flowers were too much after all. He’s about to apologize, or maybe crack a joke to lighten the mood, when Jordan pushes himself up, pulls Liam onto his lap and starts kissing him like Liam’s lips are the oxygen he needs.

 

“That’s how it is, huh?” he asks, and Liam can feel him grinning against his mouth, feels the laughter in his words. “Alright, I’m taking you to Paris next year.”

 

It should be intimidating, Liam thinks, the implication that they’ll still be together a year from now. It should scare him. He knows how easily things can go wrong, knows that feeling like you could burst with happiness at one point in a relationship is no guarantee of forever. But Jordan is giving him this look that tells Liam he’s perfectly aware of what he’s just said, that he wants this as much as Liam does, that he’s willing to do whatever he can to make sure what they have lasts and he doesn’t plan to give up on them, and that – that’s all Liam could ask for.

 

He nods, smiling as he leans in to give Jordan another kiss. “I’ll hold you to that.”

 


End file.
